The Curse of the Black Pearl
by Darth Praxus
Summary: The time has come for the curse to be undone. But three people stand in Hector Barbossa's way—a young blacksmith, the daughter of Port Royal's governor, and an old acquaintance known as Jack Sparrow... Straight-up novelization of the film.
1. Preface

PREFACE

I love adventure stories. Especially pirates ones. Epic sword fights, battles between ships on the high seas, witty heroes and dastardly villains, thundering, bombastic soundtrack playing in the background. Thus, I was blown away when I saw the first _Pirates of the Caribbean_ film. Here was a movie that was, I felt, in the same tradition as the marvelous _Princess Bride_—it was careful not to take itself at all seriously, had swashbuckling action, a fantastic lead, and an overall adventuresome feel that is all too frequently gone from today's movies.

That's why I've never liked the second and third films as much. They, unlike _Curse of the Black Pearl_, take themselves seriously. The whole point of POTC is that the stories are ridiculous, and you're supposed to run with it. The first film accomplished its story because it realized this was a cheesy adventure film. The latter two devolved into melodrama and convoluted plots that were a chore to watch. But I digress...

Anyway, I'm a big reader, so I always wished the POTC films had novelizations available. Thus, with my discovery of this wonderful site, I've decided to write my own.

Note: This is not going to be like FantasyBard's novelizations, which introduce a swathe of new characters and, in the case of _At World's End_, change the plotlines of the movies considerably. The stories are admittedly brilliant, and I'd highly recommend reading them, but I'm just going to stick to the movie's story. I plan on occasionally throwing in an extra scene or two, but only if they're something I feel would have made the movie better. Other than that, it's going to be straight POTC from here on out. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the story.

—The Author


	2. Prologue: Fog Bound

PROLOGUE: FOG BOUND

_We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs, _

_Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho!_

_Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!_

—Traditional sailors' drinking song, c. 1740

— — — —

The Atlantic ocean has long been recognized as the gloomiest of the world's four. Fog, icebergs, storms and sleet. One got used to it over time, if one was to be a good sailor. Nevertheless, the crew of the _H.M.S. Dauntless _was uneasy when the fog rolled in on this particular voyage.

It was far thicker than it should have been, obscuring everything around the ship within a few hundred feet. This naturally put the crew on edge, as it significantly increased the chance of a collision with another unsuspecting ship. Then there was the utter lack of wind; this not only hampered the ship's ability to travel considerably, it was downright odd for there to be no wind for so long over such a distance. Overall, a very queer circumstance, and a very disturbing one, as far as Joshamee Gibbs was concerned.

The only two people who didn't seem unsettled were the two special passengers. Weatherby Swann, the new governor of Port Royal, Jamaica, had never been on a voyage before, nor had his daughter Elizabeth, and they were both fascinated by the whole enterprise. The girl, especially, would constantly pester the sailors and officers, asking question after question about how the ship was run, why this rope went there, and on and on. Some of the crew were indulgent to the young girl, the lieutenant, a man called Norrington, in particular. Gibbs couldn't stand the jabber, and what was worse was that the girl was probably what was bringing this bad weather upon them. Women on ships made horrible luck.

He'd tried to explain this to the captain before they'd set sail, but of course they couldn't just leave the governor thousands of miles away from the thing he was governing. And so here they were, in the middle of the ocean, with no means of propulsion or vision, and Gibbs was feeling very resentful about the whole bloody matter.

Thus, when he saw the Swann girl hanging over the railing, singing a song that one of the crewmen, no doubt, had taught her, Gibbs decided it was time for a bit of fun.

"_Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me!_

"_We're rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves,_

"_Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho!_

"_We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,_

"_Drink up, me hearties, yo-ho!_

"_Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for—_"

Gibbs reached out very carefully and grabbed the girl's shoulder.

She gave a tiny scream and whirled around. Gibbs smiled inwardly. "Quiet, missy!" He leaned in closer to her. "Cursed pirates sail these waters, you know. You don't wanna bring 'em down on our heads, now, do you?"

The girl's eyes widened, and she shook her head. The pirate story was, of course, an utter fabrication; Gibbs had never encountered pirates here before, but he relished the fear coming from the girl.

That is, until a familiar voice addressed him from behind. "_Mr. Gibbs_! That will do!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. Norrington was yet another of the well-meaning idiots he'd had to serve under during his career as a sailor for the Royal Navy. He was utterly too concerned about his duty to the crown, which was probably why he was so protective of the girl. However, despite the fact that the man was an idiot, Gibbs had no desire to get into trouble with him, especially since, he noticed with a shock, the girl's father was with him. "But sir," he protested, attempting to justify his actions, "she was singing about pirates!" The excuse sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. "Bad luck to be singin' about pirates with us mired in this unnatural fog, you mark my words."

Norrington clearly had no intention of listening to Gibbs. "Consider them marked. On your way."

Gibbs sighed, spat. "Aye, lieutenant." He muttered under his breath as he left, "Bad luck to have a woman aboard, too. Even in miniature form." He took a gulp from his rum-filled canteen.

"I think it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate," Gibbs heard the girl say to the two other men.

Norrington spoke to the girl in such a way that Gibbs could tell he was wearing a condescending smile. "Think again, Miss Swann. Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirates flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves—a short drop and sudden stop."

The girl looked over at Gibbs, as if asking him what that meant. Only too happy to demonstrate, Gibbs looped a small length of rope around his neck and yanked. She gave a small gasp.

The governor spoke. "Lieutenant Norrington, I appreciate your fervor, but I—I'm concerned about the effect this subject will have upon my daughter."

There was a note of firmness in his voice that seemed to cow Norringotn. "My apologies, Governor."

"Actually," the girl informed her father, "I find it all fascinating."

"Yes, well, that's what worries me."

Swann walked off, and Gibbs got back to work, still disgruntled with his lot in life. He'd warned them all, he had, and that girl had done nothing but bring him trouble since they'd set sail. Well, he'd be rid of her once they got to Port Royal, at least. Then it was back to England, and time for the next voyage.

After a time, Gibbs ran out of things to work on, and eventually found himself standing next to the lieutenant and the governor. He tried listening in on their conversation for a while, but found it dull. He settled back, and just listened to the creak of the ship as it rocked from side to side, hearing the water slap the wood hull. He was just about to be lulled to sleep when the Swann girl yelled something from the bow.

"Look, look! There's a boy in the water!"

Norrington and Gibbs both rushed to the railing and looked. Norrington spotted it first, Gibbs a moment later—a piece of wood formed into a makeshift raft, and sitting atop it, unconscious, a dark-haired boy of about ten. "Man overboard!" Gibbs cried. "Man overboard!"

The lieutenant was issuing orders to the men, who threw ropes and hooks over the side as the raft drifted by. A few moments later, Gibbs grabbed the boy's limp body and hauled it aboard.

"He's still breathing," Norrington announced. Gibbs was about to breath a sigh of relief, but then something caught his gaze, a slight flicker in the distance, approaching fast. He leaned out over the side, straining for a better look—

Then it broke through the fog. "Mary, mother of God..."

It had once been a merchant vessel, it appeared; now it was a burning hulk. Fragments of its hull were floating in the sea, occasional, tiny explosions issued from the flames. Corpses could be seen on its deck, burned to a crisp.

Horrified, Gibbs ran to the bow to get a better look, Norrington, Swann, and most of the crew hot on his heels. "What—what happened here?" Swann gasped.

"It was most likely the power magazine," Norrington replied in a slightly shaky voice. "Merchant vessels are heavily armed."

"A lot of good it did 'em!" Gibbs snarled. "Now, everyone's thinking it, I'm just sayin' it—pirates did this!" Apparently he'd thought wrong when he believed there were no pirate vessels in this part of the Atlantic.

The girl, he realized belatedly, was standing right beside him, a stricken look on her face. Her father, maybe to comfort her, said, "Well, there's—there's no proof of that. I could have been an accident."

The lieutenant was in motion, issuing orders to the crew and heading for the boats. "Rouse the captain immediately. Heave to and take in sail, launch the boats!" Gibbs rushed after him, hearing Swann tell the girl to look after the boy as he left.

Bloody fiends. Sometimes, Gibbs agreed with Norrington on pirates.

One thing he knew for sure. He'd never, ever wind up as one.

— — — —

_We were so close, this time. I could feel the gold, calling me. But no._

_ There's no time to look for any survivors, not with that man o' war sitting right on top of us. We must find all of them, all 882. We can track this piece down once the Royal Navy ship has left._

_ It's a nightmare, still, you know, even after two years. Some of us are still trying to kill themselves. They know there's no point, but they try. Bill, especially, probably wishes he could, now. Got what was coming to him, that one did. Though we probably should have waited to do it. Ah, well. What's done is done, by my account._

_ I kept that barrel of apples we found in that ship. I'm going to keep them, until we're free. I've always loved the taste of apples._

_ Though they're now just ash in my mouth._


	3. Chapter One: Arrival

CHAPTER ONE: ARRIVAL

Jack Sparrow was not particularly good-looking, even for a pirate. His teeth were yellowed, and some had been replaced entirely by gold. His brown hair was in dreadlocks, his beard braided. He was clad in a seaman's coat, a red bandana, and a black tri-cornered hat. All of his other earthly possessions could fit on his person: a compass, a seaman's knife, a flintlock pistol, and a curved, wicked-looking cutlass. And, of course, a small flask of rum.

He was in good spirits as he surveyed the small island harbor that lay before him, breathing in the salt air, feeling the ship rock beneath him. He loved that feeling—he loved the sea, almost as much as he loved himself.

Of course, the vantage point left something to be desired. The _Jolly Mon_ was an old fishing boat, barely longer than Jack was tall. It was leaky, it was slow, it was inelegant, and it was really no way for the man who'd taken Nassau Port without firing a single shot to make an entrance. He really missed the _Pearl_ right about now.

Still, the view was nice. The sun was just rising, the rich pink and orange of the sky contrasting nicely with the lush green of Port Royal, Jamaica. About half a dozen ships, ranging from small clipper vessels to merchant ships and man o' wars, floated in the harbor. The city was one of the most prosperous in the whole of the Caribbean; if you were looking to be a cane farmer, trader, sailor, or slaver, you could make a good living there.

Jack had come on another venture entirely.

He heard a slopping noise from below, and looked down. Water was yet again filling the hull of his ship. "Bugger." Jack leapt down from the small mast of the boat, picked up a bucket, and began bailing. Really, he would have thought Anamaria had better sense when it came to buying fishing boats. As it was, the theft of it had been probably worse than useless; he now had a boat that was likely to sink at any moment, and he could add yet one more to the list of women in Tortuga who were livid with him—six or seven by now, he thought.

He was getting near the docks now. As the _Jolly Mon _passed by a small spit of land jutting out into the harbor, Jack caught sight of a very gruesome scene—three skeletons hanging from a bar of wood. Next to the swinging corpses was the legend _PIRATES YE BE WARNED_.

Jack sighed. Why couldn't everyone just learn to get along in this world? He stopped bailing for a moment, doffed his hat, and saluted. "Bad luck, lads."

The moment's distraction cost him. Water was now lapping his ankles. "Bugger!" He grabbed the bucket and frantically began bailing, hoping he'd at least be able to get through this with his dignity somewhat intact.

— — — —

If one had been on the Port Royal docks working that particular morning, as the docksmaster was, they would have seen an unprecedented, unexpected, and overall quite extraordinary thing.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first—just a stray bucket floating by towards the harbor. Then they might have looked up to see if the bucket had fallen from a nearby boat. They would have seen the last vestiges of the battered hull of an old dinghy as it was lost to the sea. However, the boat wasn't giving up without a fight. A mast had been fitted to it, sail flapping in the breeze, a small crow's nest on top. And standing in this small perch was a dreadlocked man in a seaman's coat and a black tricorn hat, looking straight ahead, totally at ease with his situation, and rather extraordinarily dignified about the whole matter.

The mast continued to sink, and he continued to stand, and the docksmaster continued to stare, until the crow's nest was level with the dock. The stranger stepped right off of his perch, grabbed a rope, tied the little bit of boat he had left to the dock, and began marching off, dignity rather lost now due to his almost drunken swagger.

The docksmaster recovered from his shock just as the man was about to leave the dock. "Oi!" he thundered after the stranger, who turned around and examined him quizzically. "It's a shilling to put up your boat here." The stranger glanced at the now vanished boat and back at the docksmaster a bit reproachfully. Indeed, he had a bit of a point, but the docksmaster would not be swayed, not when his profits were currently all of four shillings and a sixpence. "And I shall need to know your name."

The stranger gave him a significant look. "What d'you say to _three _shillings," he replied, his voice slightly slurred, "and we—_forget _the name?"

The docksmaster looked first at his purse, then at the stranger, then back at his purse again. "Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith."

The stranger gave him the shillings and made a sort of bow. The docksmaster then turned back to gaze at the sunken boat, shaking his head at the queerness of it all.

He was so busy with this that he didn't even notice when the stranger walked off with the money-purse in his pocket.


	4. Chapter Two: Mansion

CHAPTER TWO: MANSION

_it's alright. my name's elizabeth swann._

_ w—will turner!_

_ i'm watching over you, will._

_ the medallion was in the shape of a small disc. gold, shining, it gleamed in the light. it was the motif upon it that caught elizabeth's eye. a skull, two eyes taking up most of it, teeth grinning up at her._

_ you—you're a _pirate_!_

_ has he said anything?_

_ hi—his name's william turner. that's all i found out._

_ take him below._

_ a ship. black, with black sails, tattered, ragged, crumbling._

_ a flag, skull and crossed swords emblazoned on it._

_ she shut her eyes and ran._

— — — —

A. N. I would like to say, before I describe Elizabeth as she is portrayed by Kiera Knightley: I do _not_ have a crush on the character. Actually, I think she's an idiotic jerk, come time for _Dead Man's Chest_. However, I have to write her as beautiful so the audience sees why Will falls in love with her, so here goes.

— — — —

Eight years later, Elizabeth Swann had blossomed from a young, freckled little girl into a beautiful woman. Her deep brown eyes, long, sleek, dark blond hair, her strong, fiery beauty, gave her her choice of suitors in Port Royal. However, despite the fact that she was now an adult, she still harbored a few childhood secrets.

The largest of which she currently had shut in a drawer.

Slowly, she pulled open the drawer, pulled out the medallion and the chain that was attached to it. The gold still glimmered, skull's eyes shining in the lantern-light. A pirate's medallion.

She'd never shown it to anyone, or told anyone about it. Because Will was _not_ a pirate, no matter how it would look if someone were to find this; it was a strange coincidence that he had had the medallion on his possession when they rescued him from that wreck. He just couldn't be.

_If you didn't suspect anything, though, _a small voice in her head whispered to her, _you wouldn't be trying so hard to convince yourself, would you?_

_ Shut up_, she told the voice. Anyway, even if he _had _been a pirate (_and he hadn't been_), he certainly wasn't now. He was an incredibly kind, well-mannered man, who worked for John Brown the blacksmith. He was, in fact, dreadfully opposed to any form of pirate, who (he claimed) were the reason he practiced with the rapier, cutlass, and throwing knife three hours every day.Any one of the common girls would be glad to have him courting them, and Elizabeth still considered him her closest friend.

She continued to stare at the medallion. She had never put it on, in eight years. She wondered what it would look like on her...

She had a thrill of adrenalin at the thought of putting it on. _Don't be stupid! s_he told herself. But the dream she'd just had had given her a queer feeling. Slowly, she slipped the chain onto her neck, looking at its gleam in her mirror.

"Elizabeth?"

She gave a tiny gasp. It was her father, and he was knocking at the door.

"Are you awake? Are you decent?"

She threw herself at the bed and hastily pulled on her dressing-gown. There was no time to put the medallion away, so she tucked it into her bodice, praying no one would notice and cursing her foolhardiness. "Yes! Yes!"

The door opened, and her father entered, flanked by two maids. Eight years later, Weatherby Swann's wig was gray, instead of brown, but he was still the same kind, doting, slightly overprotective father that Elizabeth loved. He smiled at her as he stepped in. "Still abed at this hour? It's a beautiful day," he gently chided his daughter, as the maids pulled open the curtains, causing a rush of light that forced Elizabeth to shut her eyes briefly. Indeed it _was_ a beautiful day, sun shining, town bustling, the sea gentle and calm.

"I have something for you," her father continued, placing a large box into her hands. Elizabeth took the lid off, gasped. "Oh, it's _beautiful_!" It was a white, lacy dress, clean and opulent and magnificent-looking. "May I inquire as to the occasion?"

Weatherby smiled, shrugged. "Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter?"

Elizabeth beamed at him as she followed the two maids behind the changing screen to get into the gift. "Actually," her father said in a small voice as she began pulling off her dressing-gown, "I had hoped you'd wear it to the ceremony today."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She'd thought this would happen. "Ceremony?"

"Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony."

"I knew it!" Norrington was a fine man, to be sure, and a good friend of her father's but at times like these Elizabeth couldn't help but be annoyed at how fast he was climbing the ranks.

"Commodore Norrington as he's about to become...he's a fine man. He fancies you, you know." He paused for a few moments. "How's it coming?"

Elizabeth had a bit of difficulty in replying. The dress was beautiful, to be sure, but it was so _heavy_, and the corset made her feel as if she was being suffocated by a massive snake. "It—it's difficult to say."

"I'm told it's the latest fashion in London."

"Well, women in—" she gasped for breath. "Women in London must learn how to not breathe!"

"My lord," a new voice, one of the servants, said, "you have a visitor."

"Oh, it must be young Master Turner. He's early," Weatherby noted cheerfully. "Well, farewell Elizabeth."

His daughter couldn't get enough breath to reply. _Bloody London fashions, _she thought, as a particularly hard tug on the corset made it seem that at least five of her ribs had just cracked.

— — — —

Will Turner, eight years after his rescue by the _Dauntless_, was tall and handsome, possessing brown hair, eyes of the same color, and just a bit of facial hair. He was at the Governor's Mansion on business—a special order from Governor Swann, which Will had been working on for two weeks now. He was eager to present it to him, and getting rather impatient. No one would talk to him when he made attempts at chat, and so he was resigned to standing, box under his arm, admiring the candelabras on the walls and the golden chandelier suspended from the ceiling.

There were footsteps, and then the governor was approaching. "Ah, Will? How are you?"

Will smiled, bowed. "Good day, sir. I have your special order." He opened the box and, slowly, carefully, offered the contents to Swann.

It was rapier, one of the finest Will had ever made. "The blade is folded steel. That's gold filigree laid into the handle." Swann gave a small gasp as he saw it.

"It's marvelous, Will!"

"If I may?" Will asked, and Swann laid the hilt in Will's hand. "It's perfectly balanced; the tang is almost the full width of the blade." To demonstrate, he tossed the sword up in the air, waited for two full revolutions, then caught it by the hilt. The governor gave a small cry, then chuckled and put the rapier back in the box. "Oh, very good. Commodore Norrington's going to be _very_ pleased with this. Tell your master he has my thanks."

Will's smile slipped somewhat at that. As if Brown ever made anything in that shop. The old man just drank himself to sleep all day. It was a wonder Will could get all the orders done by himself. However, he quickly recovered. "I shall. A craftsman always enjoys hearing his work is appreciated."

Swann was no longer paying attention, but was looking at something on the stairs. "Elizabeth ! You look absolutely stunning!"

Will turned quickly, heart rate increasing slightly. She did look stunning; the new d ress she wore was beautiful, her smile was radiant...beautiful.

"Will!" she called from the stairs.

"G—good morning, Miss Swann!" he was able to reply.

She came towards him, smiling. "I had a dream about you last night, you know."

"A—about me?" Will stammered, cursing his inability to speak properly when he was around her.

"Elizabeth, is this entirely—" Swann began, but his daughter cut him off.

"It was about the day we met, do you remember?"

"How could I forget, Miss Swann?"

She leaned closer, smiling wider. "Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?"

Oh, he wanted to, but of course that wouldn't be right; she was the daughter of the governor, he was just an apprentice blacksmith. "At least once more, Miss Swann, as always."

The governor took this opportunity to clear his throat and step between them. "You see, Elizabeth, at least the boy has a sense of propriety. Now, we really must be going." He took Elizabeth by the arm and began to lead her away.

She turned back and looked at him, a sad look on her face. "Good day, Mr. Turner."

Will quietly followed them until they were in their carriage. "Good day!" he called as they pulled away.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, almost as an afterthought.


	5. Chapter Three: Series of Unusual Events

CHAPTER THREE: A SERIES OF UNUSUAL EVENTS

Jack Sparrow made his slightly staggering way across the Port Royal docks, admiring the various ships, vessels, boats, and other such marine vehicles. The biggest, of course, and the one he would have preferred, was the man o' war that was sitting at the far side of the harbor. Unfortunately, that ship would require a crew of who knew how many. No, speed was to be the advantage here. It was a small ship that he needed.

Ah, there was one. Small, but grand-looking, with the word _INTERCEPTOR _emblazoned on its stern with gold lettering. It might be possible for one to crew by himself, if he really worked at it. _Let's just give that one a try_.

Once he'd arrived at the dock for the _Interceptor_, there was apparently no security in sight. Odd, for a ship of the Navy. However, he'd only barely thought of that when suddenly, two guards, whom Jack gathered had been playing cards up to this point, came rushing up in front of him, one tall and thin, one squat and balding.

"This dock," said the bald one sternly, "is off-limits to civilians."

"Terribly sorry, I didn't know. If I see any, I shall inform you immediately." With that, he tried to sidestep around the man, but the two guards moved as one to block his way. Maybe a different tack. "What're your names?"

"I'm Murtogg," said the thin one irritably, "and this here's Mullroy. Now get lost."

"Well, Murtogg and Mullroy, there appears to be some sort of high-toned and fancy to do over at the fort, eh?" He'd noticed a huge number of horses and carriages over by the fort in question, Fort Charles, and kept that observation in mind for later. Now he was glad he had. "Now how is it that two fine, upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves did not merit an invitation?" He made sure to put an extra note of sarcasm into his voice on that sentence.

"Some one has to make sure this dock stays _off-limits to civilians_," Mullroy replied, looking very annoyed now, and clearly wishing that Jack would evaporate on the spot.

"A fine goal, to be sure," Jack replied. "But a, a ship like, like _that_," he argued, gesturing at the man o' war, "makes this one here a bit of a—a superfluous, don't you think?"

"Oh, the _Dauntless_ is the power in these waters, true enough," Murtogg replied. "But no craft can match the _Interceptor _for speed."

"I've heard o' one," Jack replied, mind working furiously. "Supposed to be very fast, nigh uncatchable." He paused, leaned in close, and spoke in a whisper. "The _Black Pearl_."

Mullroy guffawed loudly. "Well, there's no _real_ ship as can match the _Interceptor_."

Murtogg, however, was frowning. "_Black Pearl_ is a real ship. I've seen it."

Mullroy whipped around. "No, you haven't"

Murtogg frowned deeper. "Yes, I have."

"You haven't!"

"Yes, I have!"

Mullroy leaned close to his friend. "You've seen a ship with black sails, crewed by the damned, and captained by a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out?"

Murtogg looked confused. "Um, no."

Mullroy smirked. "No."

"But I _have_ seen a ship with black sails!"

"Oh, and no ship that's not crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out could _possibly_ have black sails, is that what you're saying?"

Murtogg said, "Um..."

Mullroy smirked again, turned back to Jack. "As I said, there's no _real _ship as can..."

Jack was no longer standing there.

The two whipped around, only to see the pirate at the wheel, spinning it and humming gaily to himself. "Oi! You!"

The two clambered aboard, muskets aimed at the strange man with the slurred speech. "You don't have permission to be aboard here, mate!"

Jack took his hands off the wheel. "Sorry, it's just such a—a pretty boat—ship, sorry."

Murtogg growled. "What's your name?"

"Smith, or Smithee, if you like," Jack told him.

"What's your purpose in Port Royal, _Mr. Smith_?" Mullroy thundered, cocking his musket.

"Yeah, and no lies!" Murtogg put in for good measure.

"Right, then, I confess," Jack sighed, stepping towards them. "It is my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, raid, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer my weaselley black guts out," he told them happily.

Murtogg looked confused. "I said no lies!"

"Think he's telling he truth, mate," Mullroy replied, looking slightly in awe.

"If we were telling the truth, he wouldn't have told it to us!" Murtogg replied, looking more confused.

"Unless," Jack put it helpfully, "he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you..."

Murtogg and Mullroy were now both _very_ confused...

— — — —

The ceremony had been long and dull, and Elizabeth now felt utterly faint and feverish due to her inability ti inhale properly. She was fanning herself rapidly, but to no avail. The music of the orchestra droned in the background. Why did it have to be so bloody sunny today, anyway?

She looked around furiously for something to drink, and caught sight of a punchbowl nearby. Hastening to it in as much of a dignified manner as she could, she took a large glass and gulped the entire thing down.

It didn't help, and she was forced to suppress a massive belch that she suspected was the result of the punch mixed with the cage that was crushing her innards. Oh, how long would it be til this whole thing was over?

Somebody was coming up beside her, and Elizabeth noticed with a start that it was the newly-promoted Norrington. He looked slightly nervous for some reason, though at the moment Elizabeth wasn't very concerned as to why. "Elizabeth?" he asked her. "Could you come with me for a moment?"

Fanning herself furiously, she managed a nod, and walked off to the edge of the fort's wall with the commodore. Oh, the sun was even worse here.

"Elizabeth," Norrington began, with the air of a man who was about to go to the gallows, "this promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved." He looked at her, and she was able to make a sort of grunt. He continued. "Marriage to a fine woman." He leaned close. "You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth."

Somewhere in the back of her brain, Elizabeth was properly shocked at the proposal, but most of her brain currently had no oxygen coming to it, and was thus rather occupied. "I...I can't..._breathe_..."

"Yes," said the commodore, missing her point entirely, "I'm rather nervous myself, but I think, if we could—"

That was the last thing she heard, and then she was falling, realizing belatedly how close to the edge she had been, and praying that her faint would be complete before she hit whatever lay below...


	6. Chapter Four: Caught and Almost Caught

CHAPTER FOUR: CAUGHT AND ALMOST CAUGHT

"...and then they made me their chief," Jack continued. He had a knack for telling stories about himself, and he had these two morons enthralled with a tale of derring-do and swordplay on the Isle of Pelegosto. If things kept going this well, maybe he'd be able to recruit them to help him sail to Tortuga. He'd leave them once there, of course. "Now of course, the thing about the Pelegostos is, they're cannibals, you know, so I was—"

_SPLASH_.

Jack hurried to the side, along with his two new friends, just in time to see a girl of about eighteen sinking into the depths. _Hmm. That's interesting._

The two Marines were clearly horrified. "Will you be saving her, then?" Jack inquired hopefully.

"I can't swim!" Mullroy replied, still staring at the girl, and Murtogg shrugged hopelessly.

Jack growled and rolled his eyes. Stripping out of his coat, he thrust it, his sword, his hat, and the rest of his effects into the arms of the two. "Pride of the King's Navy, you are. _Do not lose these_!" And with that, he executed a perfect dive into the blue water beneath them.

— — — —

The medallion floated, suspended in the water. It was free, at last.

And it needed to go home.

It called, emitted a pulse through the waves, a siren song to a black ship with black sails...

Which began to set sail.

— — — —

Jack reached the girl just before she hit the bottom. He grabbed her, tried to swim to the surface, but felt himself being dragged down. It wasn't the girl, though—it was the dress. The bloody thing was ruffled and frilly and far too heavy, and Jack was sinking fast. He managed to tear off most of the thing, and he and the girl were rapidly shooting towards the surface.

Murtogg and Mullroy helped him haul the girl onto a nearby dock. Her eyes were still closed. "Not breathing!" Mullroy cried.

"Move!" Jack barked, pulling his knife out from the bundle of possessions Mullroy was holding. He sliced through the corset the girl was wearing, and almost immediately, she began coughing up lungfuls of sea water.

"Never would have thought of that," Mullroy said admiringly.

Jack glanced at him. "Clearly, you have never been to Singapore." He turned his attention back to the girl, and the thing around her neck caught his attention. It was a gold coin, a skull emblazoned on it, gleaming in the sunlight.

What was left of it, anyway. In fact, Jack noticed that the weather had taken a decidedly foul turn. Wind was blowing the sails on the _Interceptor_ every which way, the sun was almost entirely obscured by clouds, and waves were now slapping the side of the ships increasingly harder. He looked into the girl's eyes. "Now where did you get _that_?"

Unfortunately, he was prevented from questioning her further by the arrival of several red-garbed men bearing muskets. _The bloody cavalry arrives at bloody last. _Before Jack knew it, he was staring down the barrels of about a dozen muskets. "On your feet," barked the man who was clearly the leader of the group.

"Elizabeth!" cried a man in a green coat and huge gray wig. "Thank heavens you're safe!" He caught sight of the girl's corset in Jack's arms, and Jack realized what must have been going through his mind. "Shoot him!" he ordered the soldiers. _Oh, bugger._

"Father!" the girl cut across the wigged one. "Commodore, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"

The commodore seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then gave a gesture, and the guns were no longer on Jack. He gave a nod of thanks to the girl—Elizabeth, the man had called her.

"I believe thanks are in order," the commodore said, extending his hand, the tone in his voice telling Jack that he'd better go along with this. Jack reluctantly took the hand and shook it—

Only to have the commodore rip open his sleeve, exposing the brand of _P _on Jack's wrist. The pirate swore softly.

The other man was very smug. "Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we? Pirate?"

The wigged one's face was furious once more. "Hang him!"

"Keep your guns on him, men! Gillette, fetch some irons." The commodore pulled Jack's sleeve further up, revealing the tattoo of a bird taking flight over ocean waves. "Well, well. Jack Sparrow."

Jack yanked his arm away. "It's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please."

"Well, I don't see your ship, _Captain_."

Jack would have decked the man if he wasn't surrounded by guns and swords. "I'm—I'm in the market, as it were."

"Said he'd come to commandeer one," Murtogg told the other man. Jack growled. _We were getting along so well, too, mate._

"Told you he wasn't lying!" Mullroy cried triumphantly, and hastily handed Norrington Jack things. "These are his, sir!"

Norrington examined the items one by one, smirk increasing with each object. "Pistol with no additional powder nor shot; a compass that doesn't point north..." He pulled the cutlass a few inches out of its scabbard. "And I half-expected it to be made of wood. You are without a doubt the _worst_ pirate I have ever heard of."

"But you _have_ heard of me," Jack pointed out, hoping to wipe the smirk off the man's face.

It worked. The commodore gripped Jack's arm and pulled him over to Gillette, handcuffs at the ready. "Commodore, I really must protest!" the girl interjected as the cuffs were put on Jack. "Pirate or not, this man saved my life."

"One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness," the commodore told Elizabeth sternly.

"Though it does seem to be enough to condemn him," Jack remarked dryly. Gillette finished putting on the cuffs and stepped away. "Finally!" With one swift motion, he had wrapped a makeshift garrote around the girl's throat.

Everyone assembled gasped. Some of the soldiers raised their muskets, but the wigged man cried, "No! Don't shoot!"

Jack grinned. "I knew you'd warm up to me. Commodore, my effects, please. And my hat!"

The men just stared. "_Commodore_!"

The commodore hastily pushed the bundle of things into Elizabeth's hands. "Elizabeth—it is Elizabeth isn't it?"

"It's _Miss Swann_," the girl growled, remarkably colder towards him now that he was no longer her savior.

"Well, Miss Swann, if you would be so kind. Come, come, dear, we haven't all day." She placed the pistol in his hand first, then went to work on putting on his coat and sword. In doing so, she had to half-embrace him. Jack leered at the commodore and the girl's father when she did this.

"You're despicable," the girl hissed as she finished, smashing his hat onto his head.

"Sticks and stones, love," Jack replied. "I save your neck, you save mine. We're square."

He turned her around again and began backing away, pistol to her head, garrote still at her throat. "Gentlemen! M'lady," he added, glancing at Elizabeth. "You will always remember this as the day that you almost caught...Captain! Jack! _Sparrow_!" And with that, he pushed the girl forward, into the mass of troops, and ran.

— — — —

A. N. That line has to be the most epic line in the history of epic lines.

— — — —

By the time Norrington and his troops had recovered from having Elizabeth pushed into their midst, Sparrow had somehow tripped a crane into reverse, and was now swinging in a circle from its top. "_Now _will you shoot him?" Weatherby shouted.

"Open fire, men!" Norrington bellowed, but by then Sparrow was standing on the top of the crane. As the troops opened fire, the pirate has swung his chain around the rope leading back to land and was sliding down it.

As he landed, bullets slapped at his heels, but Norrington could see it was too late. "Don't bother! Rally the townspeople, go after him!" He turned to Gillette. "Lieutenant, Mr. Sparrow has a dawning appointment with the gallows. I would hate for him to miss it." Gillette nodded and set off.

Norrington blew out a frustrated breath. Why, today of all days, did he have to be embarrassed in front of his men?

Sparrow would _not_ be getting out of this, he decided, as he himself gave chase.


	7. Chapter Five: A Private Lesson

CHAPTER FIVE: A PRIVATE LESSON

A. N. Well, here it is. The Big Duel. One of my favorites in any movie, and choreographed by fencing legend Bob Anderson, the same guy who did the duel between Inigo and the Man in Black in _The Princess Bride_. Hope I'll be able to do it justice; here goes.

— — — —

Jack ducked inside the doorway of the blacksmith's shop. That had been close; if that group of soldiers had taken a right turn instead of going down the alley...

Well. He was out of trouble now, and he needed to undo these cuffs.

The shop wasn't empty of life; there was a mule in one corner, attached to a kind of mill, and in the other corner, Jack saw with a jolt, was a sleeping, ugly old man, a bottle of rum in his hand.

Cautiously, he approached the man, ready to knock him out the moment he woke up. He reached out with an index finger and poked him hard in the chest.

The man gave a snore, but otherwise didn't react.

Jack turned around, then whirled back and screamed, "NYAAAAHHH!"

Nothing.

Satisfied, he went to work.

Hammering the chain on an anvil didn't work, and resulted in a smashed thumb. Cursing, Jack looked around for another solution.

He then remembered the mule. The press it was attached to had a number of interconnected gears and wheels; he wondered...

He just had to get the beast moving.

The pirate selected a particularly wicked-looking iron, and held it in the fire until it was orange-red with heat. Then, with a "Sorry, mate," he plunged it against the mule's backside.

With a squeal of pain, the mule began to move, and Jack leapt up to force his chain between two of the gears. One turn of the gears...two...three...

SNAP.

Jack, satisfied, turned to leave, but just as he was about to go through the door, he heard approaching footsteps. Hastily, he ducked under a table and waited.

A lad of about eighteen came in, quieted the mule. _Hmm_, Jack thought. Something about him looked familiar. He couldn't quite place the face.

The boy cast a disgusted look at the old man in the corner. "Right where I left you."

He took a few steps forward, then saw the hammer Jack had been using, still lying on top of the anvil. "Not where I left you," the boy said in a puzzled voice.

Jack cursed, a little too loudly. The boy whirled to look at his hiding place. Revealed, Jack stepped out and drew his cutlass in one swift motion. "Step away from the exit."

The boy backpedaled, eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. "You're the one they're hunting. The _pirate_," he spat.

"You seem somewhat familiar, have I threatened you before?" Jack inquired, point of the sword still at the boy's throat.

"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates," he replied coldly.

"Ah, well in that case, it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record, so if you'll excuse me—" Jack made for the door, but then there was a rapier in the lad's hand, aimed at Jack's heart.

The pirate backed away slightly, frowning. "You think this wise, boy? Crossing blades with a pirate?" He really had no time for this.

The boy's only response was to change the angle of his _en garde_. "You threatened Miss Swann."

Ah. Young love, and with a girl who he'd most likely never meet. Idiot. Jack moved his blade forward and slid it across the boy's, making a cruel rasping noise. "Only a little."

First move was Jack's; he beat the boy's blade down and made a thrust at his chest, deflected by a low parry from the boy. Back to guard, neither opponent having moved. Jack made a feint at the boy's gut, then moved into a series of slashes after the Thibault principle that forced the boy to retreat and parry wildly. Still, it was impressive that he had even redirected all of the series of blows.

Now the boy took the offensive, a series of thrusts and jabs aimed at Jack's chest and midsection. Capo Ferro, Jack noted, trying to place his enemy's style. He parried each, admiration for the boy growing, then smacked his opponent's rapier away with a rising parry. Both dropped back into guard, looking for an opening.

"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that," Jack told the boy. "Excellent form. But how's your footwork? If I step here..." He made a quarter turn until he was ninety degrees away from his starting position, slashing all the while, the boy parrying each and holding the last in a block. "Very good. And now I step again." Jack disengaged and made a complete circle around the boy, raining slashes and thrusts and parrying ripostes with the Agrippa defense. He made one last lunge, then smiled. That had been fun. "Lesson's over. Ta." He sheathed his cutlass and made for the door.

There was a whirling noise, and then, to Jack's astonishment, the boy's sword came out of nowhere and embedded itself in the latch, fixing it to the wall. Jack grabbed the hilt and yanked.

Nothing.

He pushed down on the hilt with all his weight.

The rapier stayed put.

He repeated this while _jumping_.

He might as well have been trying to move the moon, for all the good it did him.

Jack sighed. The back way, then. "That," he said, turning back to the boy, "is a _wonderful _trick, except once again, you are between me and my way out. And now," he continued, drawing his cutlass once more, "you have no weapon." He wasn't planning on killing such a promising swordsman, of course; he'd just knock him out with the hilt and be on his merry way, and the boy would have an exciting story to tell his grandchildren.

That thought lasted for as long as it took for the boy to yank a poker, tip heated to red, out of the fire.

The mule began to move, and Jack felt this wasn't such a bad idea, himself.

He dove for the right, but the boy was having none of it; he was there, slashing at Jack's head, and when Jack blocked, a shower of sparks rained down. "Improvisation, good!" This boy would make a fine pirate. Jack moved left, parried two more thrusts, slashed at the boy's exposed left arm, missed, parried again. The boy had switched from Capo Ferro to Bonetti, and was a sheer terror when his sword skills were combined with the heat of the poker. Blows made contact, a long gash down the boy's right arm countered by a burn on Jack's thigh from a glancing blow by the poker.

Jack made a slash, a feint, a thrust, another slash, then made a spinning motion that disarmed the boy. Grinning, he moved in, but the boy dove over one of the now-moving pieces of machinery and tugged something from a wooden pillar. When Jack reached him, a cutlass was in the boy's hand as he parried another blow. Come to think of it, looking around, the place was full of them, on the walls, the floor, hanging from bits of machinery. "Who _makes_ all these?"

The boy slashed, dodged, shifted position around the pillar so that he was on one side and Jack was on the other. "I do!" he replied with a grin, parrying a riposte. "And I practice with them—" he paused to dodge an empty bottle of rum that Jack threw at him, "—three hours a day!"

Jack threw another bottle, parried a Sainct-style thrust. "You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" The boy ripped another sword clear of the pillar and charged, both arms attacking at once. Jack threw himself clear of the pillar, made a thrust, parried two slashes after the dual-bladed variant of McBone, then caught both the boy's blades on his upward-raised cutlass. Locked together, each struggled for leverage. "Or," Jack continued, grunting, "perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet." He cast a glance below the boy's middle. "You're not a eunuch, are you?"

The boy strained, angry beyond measure now. "I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a _pirate_, I can kill it!"

"Ah." Jack pulled away just in time to avoid a slash that would have laid his gut open, clambering onto the top of a nearby wagon to give him some high ground. It slid, struts that had been holding it up pulled free as the boy charged on top of it, and now both duelists were balancing precariously on the bobbing wagon, attacking and parrying madly, pirate and blacksmith, blacksmith and pirate, a one-time only performance for an audience of none. _I really should consider another line of work_, Jack thought as he blocked three Capo Ferro strikes in rapid succession.

— — — —

The pirate was good, no doubt about it, Will thought, as he parried and thrust and whirled both swords like dervishes. He wasn't even breaking a sweat, but Will was beginning to tire. Experience, he remembered, trumped talent every time.

Sparrow lunged, Will blocked wildly, and one of the lengths of chain hanging from the former's wrists was tangled around Will's left blade. Thinking quickly, Will smashed the tip of that sword into the overhanging rafters with all the force he could muster, and now the pirate's left wrist was hanging from a sword embedded firmly in wood.

Will took a moment to grin, and Sparrow slashed wildly at his chest. Will backpedaled, and the pirate kicked him in the face, knocking him backwards off the wagon. As he climbed back onto the wagon, Sparrow yanked with all his might, and, to Will's horror, the sword came loose, and the pirate fell like a stone. Will was launched into the air by the force of the impact, and landed on one of the rafters. Struggling, he regained his feet, balancing precariously on the rafters, and cast wildly around for a way to beat the pirate.

Sparrow climbed back onto the wagon, and Will severed the rope holding a group of barrels aloft. The pirate was launched into the rafters, too, and now both stood, ready for what Will knew would be the final movement.

Parry, slash, thrust, block, neither opponent conceding anything, snatches of McBone and Thibault countering Agrippa and Sainct, Bonetti meeting Morozzo. Will growled as a slash tore through his pants leg, then stabbed at Sparrow's chest. It was a glancing blow. The pirate cursed, and Will took the moment of distraction to send Sparrow's cutlass spinning to the floor. _Got you._

He held his rapier to Sparrow's throat, triumphant grin on his face, but the pirate dove to the floor. Will followed.

He was about to land the killing blow, but at that moment his vision was rather obscured by a large amount of sand colliding with his eyes.

He coughed and rubbed at his eyes furiously, felt his sword get kicked away. Blindly, he scrabbled for something to use, found a throwing dirk, and came up to use.

Only to find himself staring down the barrel of a flintlock.

"You—you _cheated_!" he said incredulously.

"Pirate."

The whole shop was suddenly filled with a resounding banging noise. It seemed as if the soldiers had found the right place at last. Will moved to block the back door. If he was going to meet his end, he was going to do it fighting.

"Move away," Sparrow told him, pistol aimed at his face.

Will shook his head. "No."

The pirate rolled his eyes and gave Will a pleading look. "_Please_ move?"

Will might have found this utter inability to be ferocious amusing, at another time. "No!"

Sparrow sighed, cocked the pistol. "This shot is not meant for you!"

Will didn't move. _Good-bye, Elizabeth_, he thought, ready for the end of it all...

There was a noise, but it wasn't the pistol firing, and then, for some reason, Sparrow was lying on the floor, quite unconscious.

It was Brown. He'd smashed his bottle over the pirate's head, awake at last.

The troops burst in, led by a man Will recognized as Commodore Norrington. "Congratulations, Mr. Brown," Norrington said, as Sparrow's unconscious form was put in irons."You've just assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive."

"Just doing my civic duty sir," the blacksmith replied. Will rolled his eyes. He should have known.

"Well, gentlemen," Norrington said, summing the whole affair up quite nicely, "I trust you shall always remember this as the day that Jack Sparrow _almost_ escaped."

"Cap'n, it's _Cap'n_ Jack Sparrow," a slurred and groggy voice replied as he was led out of the shop.


	8. Chapter Six: Siege

CHAPTER SIX: SIEGE

The Fort Charles jail wasn't the worst place Jack Sparrow had ever had to spend the night, but it certainly wasn't the best, either. The cell he was in had a hard, cold stone floor covered with hay, and that was it. All he had for company was his fellow prisoners, and they were annoying to the extreme, bent on using a large bone they'd found to lure the jailer's dog over, as it had the keys around its neck.

"Here, boy! C'mere! Come and get the nice, juicy bone!"

Jack sighed and pulled his hat over his eyes. Their whistling was aggravating the headache he still had from that rum bottle. "You can do that all you like, but the dog is _never going to move_!"

"Oh, well, excuse us if we haven't resigned ourselves to the gallows just yet," one of the band retorted irritably.

Jack sighed again. He kept thinking back to that boy in the blacksmith's shop. He'd definitely been familiar; but who was he? Jack couldn't have known that many eighteen-year-olds in his life. _Well, I have about two days before I'm hung...might as well get cracking._

_ Let's see...Robert? No, I blew off his kneecap last time I saw him..._

— — — —

Hours after her ordeal, Elizabeth was safely in bed, the maid putting the bedwarmer between the sheets. "There y'go, miss. 'Twas a tryin' day for you, I'm sure."

"Well, I had expected the commodore might propose," Elizabeth replied absently, "but I must admit I wasn't entirely prepared for it."

"Oh! Well, I meant your bein' threatened by that pirate. It sounds terrifyin'."

"What? Oh, yes, it was terrifying."

"But, the commodore proposed? Now that there's a smart match—if it's not to bold my sayin' so, ma'am."

"It is a smart match, I suppose," Elizabeth replied. "He's a fine man."

"Well, that Will Turner—he's a fine man, too."

Elizabeth looked up sharply. "That _is_ too bold."

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, 'twas not my place."

In truth, Elizabeth wasn't at all sure how she felt about Jack Sparrow. Yes, he'd threatened her, but his only other option had been the gallows, hadn't it? Wouldn't she have done the same, in his situation? And there was the small fact that he'd rescued her from drowning just minutes before his escape.

And now the maid had had to go and bring Will into the mix. Elizabeth had known him since she was ten; he was her best friend, but that was it, wasn't it? She couldn't help it if the maid thought otherwise. Norrington had already asked for her, anyway; he was a good man, with a future, and Will was just a blacksmith.

_ Ah, see?_ said that annoying voice in her head that would talk to her every now and then. _You've gone from denying that you care about him to convincing yourself why you can't be with him._

_ Shut_ up_, _Elizabeth told the voice. Oh, she was confused today; maybe being held hostage had been more trying than she thought. _I'll sleep on it...on everything,_ she decided, settling back against her pillows, fingering the medallion that was still around her neck.

— — — —

"Has my daughter given you an answer yet?" Weatherby Swann inquired of James Norrington as they took a stroll along the walls of Fort Charles.

"No, not as of yet," replied the commodore, looking distinctly downcast as he said this.

"Well, she has had a very trying day," Swann replied reassuringly. "I'm sure she'll be glad to have you, James."

"Thank you, Governor," Norrington replied with a nod.

"Ghastly weather, don't you think?" the governor asked, sliding into small talk.

"Bleak, very bleak."

There came a most peculiar booming noise, almost like thunder. Swann cocked his head slightly. "Now, what do you suppose that—"

"_CANNON FIRE!_" Norrington bellowed, launching himself at Swann and forcing him to the ground an instant before he would have died of decapitation-by-cannon ball. The shot plowed into the wall behind them.

Norrington looked down at the harbor, careful to avoid presenting a target, and saw, by the light of several more explosions, the outline of a ship. It was, he realized, shelling the whole of Port Royal.

_They must be madmen, _the commodore thought. _They'll never survive the fort's guns_—

That thought was cut short by another blast hitting the cannon nearest the commodore, turning it into no more than some bits of iron and wood.

Norrington growled, and, keeping his head down, ran to the fort, hoping that he'd be able to rouse the men before all of their guns were destroyed.

— — — —

Jack Sparrow heard the cannons, too. "I know those guns!" he exclaimed, to no one in particular, and scrabbled to his feet, racing to the cell window, which fortunately provided a decent view of the harbor.

Jack had to wait a moment, bu then he saw, illuminated by flashes of fire, the familiar silhouette of a matte-black ship with matte-black sails.

He grinned. "It's the _Pearl_."

"_Black Pearl_?" One of the other prisoners had abandoned his attempts to lure the dog, and was looking at Jack fearfully. "I've heard stories. She's been preying on ships and settlements for nigh on ten years, now. Never leaves any survivors!" His voice broke on the last words.

"No survivors? Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?" Jack smirked and continued staring out the window. "Barbossa, Barbossa...been too long, mate."

— — — —

The cannons weren't the pirates' only line of attack. As Fort Charles' guns attempted to repel the ship, boats full of sword and pistol-wielding men began heading towards shore. Torches lit, weapons out, they were headed towards the city as soon as they touched shore.

Unlike what most of the city's inhabitants would think, they were looking for only one particular item.

A gold piece emblazoned with a skull.

— — — —

A watchtower collapsing from cannon shots, almost falling on a screaming toddler before his mother scooped him away—

Shops on fire, people's livelihoods destroyed by makeshift grenades or a casually lobbed torch—

Men falling to the streets, bleeding and dying—

These were some of the small dramas Will saw among the magnitude of the entire battle.

Growling, he drew the rapier he had brought, slipped a throwing dirk into one hand, and charged.

First kill was a short, bearded man who was throwing grenades at random passerby. Will hurled the dirk at him, and it hit him in the back, severing his spine. Will ran past the man's convulsing form, scooped up the dirk, and kept going.

This was a melee, completely unlike his duel with Sparrow, and far more bewildering. Will had to contend with three or four enemies at once, and more than one time he thought that the man he was fighting was one he'd already killed. Soon, he was spattered with blood, dirty and exhausted, and the pirates showed no sign of stopping.

Pirates were falling, citizens were being blasted by cannons or speared or shot, and the battle showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

Sparrow really hadn't been so bad, Will thought, as he threw himself out of the way of a cannon blast from the ship that continued to take potshots at the city.

— — — —

Elizabeth, up in the Governor's Mansion, was surveying the burning city from a distance, horrified. This feeling increased tenfold when she saw torches moving towards her house.

Hurrying to the landing, she watched the front door, hoping this was a mistake, that it was soldiers coming to make sure she was alright, but she knew that couldn't be it. She was trapped, nowhere to run.

The doorman was standing in the entrance hall. Elizabeth was about to warn him when there came a knock on the door. The servant made to open it.

"NO, DON'T!" Elizabeth cried, but it was too late. The doorman stood there facing three or four pirates, the leader of whom smiled.

"'Ello, chum," he said, and shot him.

Elizabeth shrieked and ran for it, but the pirates had spotted her, and they were following. She managed to make it back to her room and slam the door, but then, someone touched her on the arm.

She screamed, only to see it was the maid. "Miss Swann," the latter cried, "they've come to kidnap you!"

"W—what?" Elizabeth asked, a little disoriented

"You're the governor's daughter!"

Elizabeth thought this over for a second, and realized that that was indeed the most likely reason the pirates were attacking. She didn't have time for much more thinking, though; she could hear approaching footfalls. "When they come in," she told the maid though clenched teeth, "run for the fort. Get help."

The maid looked puzzled. "But—but what are _you_ going to do, miss?"

Elizabeth cast around for anything she could use as a weapon, and laid her eyes on the heavy brass bedwarmer. She picked it up, feeling a bit foolish, and stood by the door.

The leader burst in first, and she smashed his face with her makeshift club. He went down, and the maid ran, screaming, from the room. Before Elizabeth could swing at the next pirate, however, he had arrested the bedwarmer in his grip. Elizabeth noticed, to her disgust, his right eye had been replaced by a wooden one. He was grinning playfully, as if this were all just a game. "Gotcha!"

Elizabeth wasn't going to have any of that. She hit the release on the bedwarmer, and hot coals came raining down upon her foe.

He screamed, "Oh! That's hot! Pintel, she burned me!" Elizabeth ran back downstairs, hoping to make it through the door. She had made it into the entrance hall, but the one-eyed pirate leapt from the landing to land right in front of her, growling and brandishing a cutlass. She turned, only to see the leader, the one called Pintel, behind her. She was trapped.

There was a distant _boom_, and a few moments later, a cannon shot came crashing through the wall and nearly decapitated the one-eyed man. He ducked, and Elizabeth ran, into a nearby anteroom. This time, she locked the doors, smashing a candelabra down onto the handles for good measure, and spotting two cutlasses hanging as decoration on the mantelpiece of a nearby fireplace, she made to pull it down.

It was stuck fast. _Just my luck._ She could see the door shuddering as the pirates smashed at it, and decided her best chance was to hide in the room's only closet, a small, cramped thing. She got the doors of it shut just before the two men burst in.

She could hear them moving about, looking for her. "We know you're 'ere, poppet!" Pintel called.

"Poppet," the one-eyed one repeated under his breath.

"Come out, and we promise we won't 'urt you." There was a silence. Elizabeth held her breath. "We will find you, poppet. You've got somethin' of ours, and it calls to us...the gold calls to us..."

"Gold," the other one muttered.

Two seconds past. Five. Ten.

Then, very slowly, the closet door creaked open, and Pintel's ugly face was inches from hers.

"'Ello, poppet..."

Elizabeth, thinking desperately back to the things she'd read about pirates as a child, cried, "Parley!"

"Eh?" said Pintel, who paused just before he would have stabbed her with his cutlass.

"Parley," Elizabeth repeated, panting. "I invoke the right of parley." The pirates looked stunned. "According to the Code of the Brethren laid down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, you have to take me to your captain!"

Pintel looked insulted. "I know the code!"

"Then you know that if an adversary demands parley, you can do them no harm until the parley is complete!"

"To blazes with the code!" the one-eyed one yelled, but Pintel smiled.

"She wants to be taken to the captain, Ragetti. And she'll go without a fuss. We must honor the Code..."

Elizabeth stepped out of the closet, felling deep down this wasn't one of her best ideas today, and hoping she wouldn't very much regret having it.

— — — —

Will was being held by the throat by a particularly vicious-looking pirate, who was taking great pleasure in doing this to his victim. "Say goodbye!"

At that moment, a cannonball hit a sign, which came crashing down upon them. Will ducked, and it smashed the pirate in the chest and through a window. "Goodbye," Will muttered.

He turned, and thought he saw someone very familiar in the crowd. It was a girl, being led away by two pirates. He leaned closer, squinting.

It was Elizabeth.

"NO!" he cried, leaping after her, but then, his head was met by a rather solidly thrown iron pot, and he was falling towards the ground, unconscious as Sparrow had been a few hours earlier.


	9. Chapter Seven: Parley

CHAPTER SEVEN: PARLEY

There was another blast, a few moments' silence, and then a cannonball tore through the wall of the cell adjacent to Jack's. The prisoners within stared a few seconds, bewildered by their sudden stroke of good fortune. This shock didn't last long, and after a few seconds, they scrambled for their exit.

Jack groaned. So close...

"My sympathies, friend," one of the others said as he departed. "You've no manner of luck at all."

Jack sat for about a half an hour, wallowing in self-pity. How had it come to this? Where had all this bad luck come from?

It appeared that a brief interlude was occurring in the battle, for the smoke was rising enough that a bit of moonlight was streaming into Jack's cell. The light cheered him up a bit, and, when he saw that the dog was still there, he decided he was going to be master of his own bloody destiny and get out of here.

The bone was lying near enough that he could pick it up. He stuck his hand out of the cell and started waving it at the beast. "Well," he told it in a friendly tone, "it's just you and me now, I guess. You and ol' Jack." He motioned at it with the bone. "Come on, just come and get the bone, that's right..."

The dog stopped just a few inches short. "Come on, come on," Jack muttered, frustrated, "you slimy, mangy cur, you..."

There was a loud clattering from upstairs, and the dog decided to turn and run, tail wagging behind it.

"No, no, no, come back, _I didn't mean it_!" Jack yelled desperately, but to no avail. He sighed and sat back on the floor, waiting for the source of the clangor upstairs to come to him.

The bodies of two Marines came crashing down the stairs, followed by two angry-looking men whom Jack recognized as old friends. "This ain't the armory!" cried the first one, short and bearded, to his companion, a black man in dreadlocks. The latter cast his gaze around and spotted Jack. A cruel grin formed on his face. "Well, well. Look what we have here, Twigg."

Jack gave a sort of wave. "Twigg, Koehler."

"Jack Sparrow," Koehler leered, and spat on the ground.

"Last time I saw you," Twigg said, also smiling, "you was sittin' on a deserted island, shrinkin' into the distance." He turned to Koehler. "His fortunes aren't improved much."

"Worry about you own fortunes, gentlemen," Jack admonished them, a slightly dangerous gleam in his eye. "The deepest circle of hell is reserved for traitors and mutineers—"

Koehler growled, and thrust his hand through the bars for Jack's throat. To do so, it had to go through the moonlight.

That was when things got strange.

Without warning, the flesh disintegrated to nothingness, leaving behind only the bleached bones of the fingers. They wrapped around Jack's throat, cutting into the skin.

Jack gasped, "So there...is...a curse...that's..._interesting_..."

"You know _nothing_ of hell," Koehler told him, and let go. He gestured at Twigg, and they left, heading, Jack supposed, for their elusive armory.

He rubbed his throat, feeling where the bones had gripped him. "That's _very_ interesting..."

— — — —

Elizabeth fingered the medallion as Pintel and Ragetti rowed the small boat towards the black shape sitting in the harbor. This, she had figured out as she was led away by the brigands, must have been the gold Pintel had been referring to. It was, she guessed, a pirate's medallion, then, though why they should want it so much was beyond her. She was careful not to show the thing to her boatmates, at any rate.

As they approached, Elizabeth got a much better view of the ship. _Oh, no,_ she thought, as she realized that there was now no doubt that her medallion was what they were looking for. She recognized those tattered, black sails, the figurehead of a young maiden hanging from the bow. This was the same ship she'd seen eight years ago, when she'd first met Will.

_Will. _She hoped he was alright.

The boat was hoisted onto the deck of the ship, and Pintel roughly pushed Elizabeth out. Pirates were scattered all across the ship, and flashes of fire and smoke were still emitting from its cannons. It was a rather frightening vessel, but then, it was owned by pirates.

A huge African man, gold studs pierced into his face, approached them. "Didn't know we was takin' on captives," he growled at Pintel and Ragetti.

"She's invoked the right of parley with Cap'n Barbossa!" Pintel replied meekly, no longer intimidating next to this hulk.

Elizabeth stepped forward, determined not to look afraid. "I am here to negotiate—"

She was cut off abruptly when the African backhanded her across the face, the impact like a blast of fire across her skin. "You will speak when spoken to!" he told her simply, as she gaped at him in disbelief.

"And ye'll do no harm to those under the protection of parley."

It was a new voice, belonging to the man who'd just grabbed the African's arm to arrest another slap. He was tall, old, with a reddish beard and long, graying hair. He wore an ornate coat, and a hat with a huge feather on top. Two pistols and a cutlass hung on his belt, and a small monkey was perched on his shoulder. Very piratey, in the classic sense, Elizabeth thought.

Whoever he was, the African obeyed him. "Aye, sir," he growled, and wrenched his arm from the other man's grip.

The new arrival smiled at Elizabeth. "My apologies, miss." He executed a slight bow. "Cap'n Hector Barbossa, at your service."

Elizabeth did not return the bow. "Captain Barbossa," she began, her voice quaking a bit from the shock of the slap she'd just taken, "I am here to negotiate a cessation of hostilities against Port Royal."

Barbossa made a puzzled face. "There're a lot of long words in there, miss, and we're not but humble pirates!" He chuckled slightly. "Now, what is it you want?" he asked, not unkindly, but there was an air of menace around him nevertheless..

He was playing with her, and Elizabeth knew that he was well aware that she knew that. She came closer, face cold, teeth clenched. "I want you to _leave and never come back_."

The crew around her roared with laughter. Barbossa waited for them to settle down before he spoke again. "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request." He leaned closer, grinning. "Means _no._" The crew laughed again.

Elizabeth clenched her teeth harder, and, before anyone could stop her, ran to the side, took the medallion off, and held it loosely in one hand. "Very well. I'll drop it, then."

Barbossa and his crew almost reacted—almost, Elizabeth could see it in their eyes. But he quickly recovered. "Me hull's burstin' with swag, and you think that bit o' shine matters to us?" He chuckled, then glared at her. "Why?"

"It's what you've been searching for—I recognize this ship, I saw it eight years ago on the crossing from England!"

"Did ye, now?" Barbossa asked, a condescending smile in place, but Elizabeth saw Pintel give a slight wince, no doubt realizing his mistake in mentioning the gold.

She smiled internally. "Well, then," she said casually, "if it really is worth nothing, I suppose there's no point in my keeping it." She let the chain drop several inches before catching it.

The reaction was instantaneous. All the pirates leapt forward, and Ragetti and the African both cried, "No!" Elizabeth gave Barbossa a condescending smile of her own.

The captain smiled, chuckled, with a nasty look in his eye. "You have a name, missy?"

"Elizabeth—" she hesitated. It probably was best if they didn't know she was the governor's daughter. She used the first name to come to mind. "Turner. I'm a maid in the governor's household."

Barbossa looked shocked for a moment, then, for some reason, smiled. "Miss..._Turner_. And how did a maid come by a trinket such as this—family heirloom, perhaps?"

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean."

"Very well. You hand it over, we'll put you town to our rudder, and ne'er return."

Elizabeth dropped the medallion into his hand. "Now. Our bargain?"

Barbossa jerked his head at the African, who began issuing orders. "Still the guns, and stow 'em!"

Barbossa began to leave, and something occurred to Elizabeth that she really should have thought of sooner. "Wait!" she cried, rushing after him. "You have to take me to shore! According to the Code of—"

The pirate whirled around, and addressed her with rather surprising violence. "First—your return to shore was not part of our negotiation, nor our agreement, so I _must_ do nothing! And second—you have to be a pirate for the Code to apply, and you're not. And third—the Code is more what you'd call...guidelines than actual rules." He leered. "Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl_, Miss Turner!"

Pintel and Ragetti came up behind her, and started to drag her away to God only knew where. Elizabeth, panicked and on the verge of tears, wondered whether it would have been better to have let them have her at the mansion.


	10. Chapter Eight: Unlikely Alliance

CHAPTER EIGHT: UNLIKELY ALLIANCE

Norrington, the morning after the pirates' ship, which the townspeople were now claiming had been the so-called _Black Pearl_, had vanished, was having a very difficult time of it. His military headquarters were currently operating out of a small shed that had miraculously escaped damage. The men were still trying to assess all of the damage done to the town, and the death count had surpassed two hundred. And, most distressing in Norrington's eyes, Elizabeth Swann had vanished along with the pirates.

They would, of course, be holding her for ransom; it was only a matter of time before a note was found. Governor Swann could, of course, pay the ransom, but it that didn't diminish the distress everyone was feeling. Swann, in particular, was distraught, wringing his hands and constantly asking anyone he could find where they thought the pirate ship could have gone. Norrington, too, was attempting to figure this out, having studied the map laid out on the table for an hour now, and was getting nowhere. This meant that young Master Turner's bursting in was even more annoying than it would have been normally.

"They have taken her!" he cried. "They've taken Elizabeth!"

Norrington didn't look up. As if they didn't already know. "Mr. Murtogg, remove this boy."

"We have to hunt them down! We must save her!"

The governor replied, angrily, "And where do you propose we start? If you have any information concerning my daughter, please, share it!"

"Well, that Jack Sparrow," Murtogg said from his corner. "He—he talked about the _Black Pearl_."

"Mentioned it, is more like what he did," another Marine, Mullroy, Norrington thought, was quick to point out.

"Well, ask him where it is!" Turner persisted. "Make a deal with him, he can lead us to it!"

Norrington spoke to the boy for the first time. "No. The pirates who invaded the fort left Sparrow locked in his cell, ergo, they are not his allies." He turned to Swann. "Governor, we will establish their most likely course—"

There was a swishing noise, and Norrington turned to see a throwing dirk embedded in his map. "_THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!_" the boy shouted at him.

Norrington, approached, fire in his eyes. The arrogant, lovestruck fool. "Turner, you are not a military man, nor are you a sailor. You are a blacksmith." Norrington seized the youth around the collar and hauled him outside. And now is _not_ the moment for rash actions!" He looked Turner in the face. "Do _not_ make the mistake, Master Turner, of thinking you are the only one here who cares for Elizabeth."

— — — —

Will, not quite believing what he was doing, made his way to the Fort Charles jail. He'd just dueled Sparrow to the death yesterday, and now he expected him to offer aid?

And yet, if Norrington wouldn't listen to him, this seemed to Will to be the only way. If working with Sparrow would bring back Elizabeth, it would be worth it. _But can I give up my principles for a girl who I'll never be with? _he asked himself.

_Yes,_ he thought, after a moment.

Will thought he caught a glimpse of the pirate trying to use a shard of bone to pick the lock of his cell, but before he could take a closer look, Sparrow was lying on his cell's floor. Will didn't waste time on pleasantries. "You there, Sparrow!"

"Eh?" the pirate asked, glancing up.

"You were familiar with that ship, the _Black Pearl_."

Sparrow was slow in answering. "I've 'eard of her."

"Where does it make berth?"

The pirate looked up, surprised. "Where does she make berth? Have you not heard the stories?"

Will shook his head; unlike Elizabeth, he'd never had a fascination for pirate legends.

Sparrow sighed. "Well, then. _Captain_ Hector Barbossa," he spat the first word as if it were a curse, "and his band of miscreants sail from the dread Isle de Muerta—Isle of Death," he clarified at Will's puzzled expression. "Not very original, but there you are. It's an island that can be found by no man, save but those who already know where it is." He said this with a look that was clearly meant to tell Will it was all a bunch of nonsense.

He wasn't dissuaded. "The ship's real enough. Therefore, its anchorage must be a real place. _Where is it_?"

"Why ask me?"

Will rolled his eyes, exasperated. "You're a _pirate_!"

"And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?"

Will's grip on the bars of the cell tightened considerably. "_Never._"

Sparrow merely studied the many rings on his right hand. Will growled. "Fine, then. They took Miss Swann."

"Oh, so it _is_ that you found a girl!" Sparrow replied in a tone of mock delight. "I see. Well, if you're intending to brave all, hasten to her rescue, and so win yon fair lady's heart, you'll have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me."

"I can get you out of here," Will replied, having expected this.

"How's that? The key's run off."

"I helped build these cells," Will replied, picking up a nearby bench. "These are half-pin barrel hinges. With the right leverage, and the proper application of strength," he explained, hooking two of the bench's legs into the cell door, "the door will lift free."

Sparrow examined him for a few moments. "You have a name, lad?"

The question seemed a bit out of place, but Will answered anyway. "Will Turner."

"That would be short for William, I imagine," the pirate noted, leaning closer. "Good, strong name. After your father's, no doubt, eh?"

How he knew this, Will had no idea, and he was hesitant in replying. "Yes."

"Ah." Sparrow was still for several moments, apparently lost in thought. Finally, he stood. "Well, Mr. Turner, I've changed me mind. If you spring me from this cell, I shall swear, on pain of death, to take you to the _Black Pearl_ and your bonny lass. We have an accord?" He held out his hand.

Will thought things over a moment longer, then shook it. "Done."

"Good! Get me out!"

Will gave a massive heave, and the door came free, clattering to the floor. "Hurry, someone will have heard that."

Sparrow whipped his hat onto his head. "Not without my effects!"


	11. Chapter Nine: A Simple Act of Piracy

CHAPTER NINE: A SIMPLE ACT OF PIRACY

Will and Sparrow made their stealthy way to the mostly-intact docks, where the only two ships left were the _Dauntless_ and the _Interceptor_. The latter was currently being loaded with supplies, to set out on an attempt to find Elizabeth, no doubt. The former was sitting near-abandoned, with just a few men on its deck. Will assumed that was the one they were taking. He couldn't help feeling a bit daunted by this, as there was no way that he knew of of two men crewing the man o' war. "We're going to steal the ship? _That_ ship?"

"We are going," Sparrow told him, "to _commandeer_—nautical term—_that_ ship." He gestured at the _Interceptor_. Before Will could ask how they were going to accomplish that, the pirate gazed at him, looking, for once, deadly serious. "One question about your business, boy," he slurred slightly, "or there's no point going. This girl—how far are you willing to go to save her?"

"I'd die for her!" Will replied fervently.

Sparrow appeared happier at this. "Oh, good."

— — — —

A. N. At this point in the film, Jack and Will put themselves under a boat and somehow use it to form an air pocket—fifty feet underwater. I'm skipping over this, because it makes no logical sense (the Mythbusters soundly busted it), and I don't want to have to try to come up with a logical explanation for it. So, let's continue, as our heroes clamber aboard the _H. M. S. Dauntless_.

— — — —

Gillette and the men were a bit surprised when the pirate they'd caught only yesterday, along with a lad of about eighteen, appeared on the deck of the _Dauntless_. This surprise increased a fair bit when the boy drew a cutlass and Sparrow yelled, "Everyone remain calm! We are taking over the ship!" in a voice that was clearly meant to induce anything but calm.

The boy, however, managed to break the tension. "Aye! Avast!"

Gillette, along with the few Marines with him, laughed heartily, while Sparrow threw the youth a nasty look. Gillette, smirking now, addressed them. "This ship cannot be crewed by two men. You'll never make it out of the bay."

The pirate matched his smirk and tugged something from his belt. There was a clicking noise, and Gillette found himself looking down the rather uncomfortably close barrel of a pistol.

"Son," the pirate told him kindly. "I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow_!" He waved the pistol a bit, nearly catching Gillette on the nose. "Savvy?"

Gillette looked first at the pistol, then at the pirate, then at the pistol again, and decided that, compared to how much damage the port had suffered already, certainly one solitary man o' war couldn't be _that _much of a loss...

— — — —

Norrington knew nothing of this incident; he was observing the loading of the _Interceptor_, the vessel they'd be using to (hopefully) find his (undecided) fiancee. The first knowledge of it he had was when shouts began issuing from the harbor.

"_Sir! Sparrow! He's taken_—"

Norrington's gaze shot up as soon as he heard the word _Sparrow_. He ripped open his small telescope and snapped it up to his eye. There was the _Dauntless_. But what was that floating away from it?

Gillette and his men, in a lifeboat. _Oh, for the love of God_. Norrington moved the glass to look closer at the man o' war, and saw Sparrow and Turner attempting to steer the ship. Turner was flapping a rope, Sparrow was gesturing madly, and both men were shouting, it appeared.

The commodore suppressed a smile. "Rash, Turner. Too rash." He shook his head. "That is without doubt the _worst_ pirate I've ever heard of."

— — — —

Will was thinking much the same thing on his end. It just might work, but then again, there was every bit of evidence that it wouldn't. _Well, at least we aren't stealing _this_ ship, or we'd really be in for it._

The _Interceptor_ was sailing now, heading straight for them. Will blew out a nervous breath. "Well, here they come."

Jack took a look at the smaller ship, and grinned.

— — — —

As soon as the _Interceptor_ took up position alongside the _Dauntless_, the men were setting up ramps and clambering aboard the man o' war. Sparrow and Turner had vanished somewhere. "Search everything, every cabin, every hold, down to the bilges!" Norrington barked, and the men were rushing every which way.

After about thirty seconds, Norrington wondered where the two could be hiding, and how they could possibly hope to avoid capture. This thought was cut off by a loud _splash_.

The commodore whirled around, only to see, to his utter horror, Sparrow pushing the ramps into the sea and Turner taking a small hatchet and cutting the ropes that attached the two ships. The _Interceptor_ immediately began to pull away, and Norrington, in that instant, realized that they'd never intended to take the man o' war.

"Sailors, back to the _Interceptor_, NOW!" Norrington bellowed, but it was far too late; it wasn't for naught that the _Interceptor_ had earned a reputation as fastest ship in the Caribbean. One sailor tried to swing over, but missed by a good fifteen feet and landed in the sea.

Sparrow waved his hat merrily, grinning madly. "Thank you, Commodore, for getting us ready to make way! We'd 'ave had a hard time of it by ourselves!"

The Marines opened fire with their muskets, taking chips of wood off the _Interceptor_'s sides, but missing the two men entirely. Norrington growled. "Set topsails and clear up this mess," he told Lieutenant Groves, disgusted.

"Sir, with the wind at quarter astern, we won't catch them!" Groves protested.

"I don't need to catch them, just get them in range of the long nines!" Norrington barked.

"Come about! Run out the guns!" Groves shouted. "We are to fire on our own vessel, then, sir?" he asked Norrington.

"I'd rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of a pirate."

"Commodore!" cried the helmsman. "He's disabled the rudder chain, sir!"

Norrington suddenly had a strong, unprecedented, and unequivocally _bad _feeling about this.

There were cries of "_ABANDON SHIP_!" from the lifeboat just before the out-of-control man o' war plowed into her.

Norrington shut his eyes tight and bowed his head, as the _Interceptor_ became a mere speck on the horizon. When Groves spoke, he sounded awestruck. "That's got to be the best pirate I've ever heard of."

Norrington ground his teeth together. "So it would seem."


	12. Chapter Ten: Sins of the Father

CHAPTER TEN: SINS OF THE FATHER

Will decided he liked the sea, a few hours after the commandeering of the _Interceptor_. The roar of waves, the salt air, the vast horizon. It was both comforting and empowering all at once.

Jack had been quiet since their escape, merely steering the ship and gazing at the waves. Will, who had been mulling over how he'd approach the pirate about this ever since they'd departed, decided now was the best time to risk it.

"When I was a lad, I lived with my mother in England," he told Sparrow, attempting to give the appearance of small talk. "Then, when she died, I came out here, looking for my father."

"Hmph," was the pirate's reply, before putting his attention back to steering the ship.

"My father? Bill Turner?" Will stared into Jack's face. "At the jail, you only agreed to help me when you knew I was named for my father. At the time, it was what I wanted, so I didn't press the matter. I'm not a simpleton, Jack. You knew him."

Sparrow turned, reluctantly looked his young charge in the eyes. "I knew him. I was one of the few who knew him as William Turner. Most everyone else just called him 'Bootstrap' or 'Bootstrap Bill'."

"Bootstrap?"

"Good man, good pirate," Sparrow told him. I swear, you look just like him."

Will's veins turned to ice. What was this? "He wasn't a pirate. He was a merchant sailor, an honest man!"

"He was a bloody pirate, a scallywag."

Will, before he knew what he was doing, had his sword out and in his hand. The man he'd idolized in his mind for years...it wasn't possible... "He was _not _a pirate!"

Sparrow sighed, rolled his eyes. "Put it away, son. Not worth your getting beaten again."

"You didn't beat me." Will was happy to bring this sore point up, if only to avoid the topic of his father for a while. "You ignored the rules of engagement. In a fair fight, I'd have killed you."

"Not much incentive for me to fight fair, then, is it?" The pirate suddenly whipped the wheel around, and before Will could figure out what was happening, he had been smashed in the chest by a large piece of mast, and was now clinging on for dear life as he dangled over the sea.

Sparrow kept his hand on the wheel, looking deadly serious. "Now, as long as you're just hanging there, pay attention. There're only two rules in this life what matter: what a man _can_ do and what a man _can't_ do. For instance, you can accept that you father was a pirate and a good man, or you cannot, but pirate's in your blood, boy, and you'll have to square with that someday." He paused for a moment. "Or me. I can let you drown. But I can't get this boat to Tortuga all by me onesy, savvy?"

The pirate swung the wheel around hard, and Will went crashing to the deck. When he looked up, Sparrow was holding his dropped sword out to him, hilt-first. "Can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not?"

Will was still for a few moments. Then, he reached out and grabbed the hilt. Jack smiled and pulled him to his feet.

Then, Will took in what the pirate had said, and frowned. "Tortuga?"

Jack grinned, turned back to the horizon. "Tortuga."


	13. Chapter Eleven: Moonlight Serenade

CHAPTER ELEVEN: MOONLIGHT SERENADE

Night had fallen on the _Black Pearl_. Elizabeth had spent most of the 24 hours since her capture huddled away in the cabin they'd given her, wondering where they could be going and if she could possibly, at some point, make a break for it. The cabin was by no means a cell; there were books on a shelf near the far wall, a table, a writing desk, and a small cot. Elizabeth had wondered, for a while, why the pirates would treat her decently, but decided not to dwell on it.

Besides, there was one comfort they hadn't given her, and that was food. She was famished, and wondered whether she'd be allowed to eat any time soon.

She sighed, and resumed just listening to the rocking of the ship, the waves slapping its hull. She was deciding that maybe she'd just go to sleep when there was a knock on the door, and, without waiting for a reply, Pintel and Ragetti strode in, the former carrying a velvet dress in his arms. He held it out roughly to Elizabeth and told her, "You'll be dining with the cap'n, and he requests you wear this."

Elizabeth would have accepted, but she didn't like the idea of putting on that dress to please Barbossa. "You may tell Captain Barbossa that I am disinclined to acquiesce to his request."

The two buccaneers grinned. For a moment, Elizabeth wondered why they were so amused at her little joke, but then Pintel said, "He said you'd say that. He also said that if that be the case, you'll be dining with the crew—and you'll be naked." Ragetti giggled.

Elizabeth glared, and ripped the dress from Pintel's hands. He scowled. "Fine, then."

— — — —

Barbossa's cabin was luxurious, for a pirate's vessel. The windows at its back provided a magnificent view of the horizon. A bed sat in one corner, a desk in the other. The shelves were lined with books and sheaves of paper. The monkey sat on a perch that hung from the ceiling. It was what was in the middle that Elizabeth found most attractive, a large table full of food and drink: chicken, duck, a roast pig, fresh fruit, wine.

The captain bowed his head as Elizabeth entered. "Evening, Miss Turner." He gestured at the chair nearest her, and she sat. The captain took his own seat a moment later. "You like my library?"

Elizabeth forced herself to look away from the food and nodded. "Yes, it's wonderful."

Barbossa smiled. "I have Shakespeare, Milton, Homer, all the old classics. Some more recent ones, too—_The Pilgrim's Progress_, _Gulliver's Travels_, _Robinson Crusoe_. Know what my favorite one is?" Elizabeth shook her head, and she saw a distant look come to Barbossa's eye. "_The Inferno_."

He was still for a few moments, but then seemed to come to himself. "Oh, and a Bible, of course. I'm a God-fearin' man, Miss Turner, despite what you might think. Now, let us begin."

Elizabeth forced herself not to tear into the food, but picked up her knife and fork, cut a small bite from her piece of chicken, and brought it to her mouth. Chewed, swallowed. Oh, it tasted wonderful.

Barbossa chuckled. "There's no need to stand on ceremony, no call to impress anyone. You must be hungry."

Elizabeth hesitated for only the briefest of moments, then picked up the piece of chicken with both hands and started ripping chunks off. As she did so, Barbossa watched her with a rapturous expression, something Elizabeth neither liked nor understood. He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured a gobletful of it, moving his arm as the ship rocked and the goblet slid across the table. "Try it." Elizabeth did so, drinking greedily. The pirate smiled, then said, his voice breaking slightly, "And the apples? One of those next?"

Elizabeth was about to comply when a terrible thought occurred to her. "It's poisoned!" she cried out loud.

Barbossa chuckled. "There's no need to be killin' ye, Miss Turner."

"Then release me!" she cried. "You have your trinket, I'm of no further value to you!"

Barbossa chuckled again, and then his gaze moved from one of longing to a different, unreadable one. "You don't know what this is, do ye?" he asked, almost in a whisper, gesturing at the medallion, which the monkey was playing with.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Pirate medallion."

Barbossa shook his head solemnly. "This is Aztec gold. One of 882 identical pieces that sat in the stone chest of Cortez himself. Blood money, paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon the Aztecs with all his armies." The far-off, unreadable look to his eyes had deepened. "But the greed of Cortez was insatiable, so the heathen priests placed upon the gold a _terrible_ curse. Any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity..."

Elizabeth smirked. "I hardly believe in ghost stories any more, Captain Barbossa."

He grinned. "Aye! That's exactly what I thought when we were first told the tale. Buried on an isle of dead what cannot be found, except for those who know where it is!" He stood, began pacing back and forth. "Find it, we did. There be the chest." He moved c loser to Elizabeth, until he was directly beside her. "Inside be the gold." He snarled. "And we took 'em all!" He began pacing again. "We spent 'em and traded 'em, and frittered 'em away on food, and drink, and _pleasurable company_!

"The more we gave 'em away, the more we came to realize—the drink wouldn't satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust. We are _cursed men_, Miss Turner! Compelled by greed, we were, but now—we are consumed by it."

He gazed off into the dark waters through the windows, and Elizabeth carefully slipped the unused knife under her napkin, just in case. The captain was now distinctly unsettling her, despite the fact that this was all an old wives' tale.

"There is one way that we can end our curse," Barbossa told her, in almost a whisper. "All the scattered pieces of the gold must be restored, and the blood repaid. Thanks to ye, we have the final piece." There was a rapturous smile on his face when he looked back at her.

She was slow in asking her question. "And...the...the blood to be repaid?"

Now he came toward her again, grinning wickedly. "Oh, that's why there's no need to be killin' ye—yet." he held out his hand, a fruit held in it. "Apple?"

She knocked it from his hand, yanked the knife out in a reverse grip, and darted around the table. The pirate grinned, grunted, "Aaaarrrrr!"

— — — —

A. N. Wouldn't be a pirate movie without the above line. Epic win on Barbossa's part.

— — — —

She ran for the door, then felt powerful arms on her shoulders. She whirled, stabbed the knife deep into his chest.

Barbossa released her, and Elizabeth backed away, waiting for him to fall dead, but, to her horror, he merely yanked the knife out, blood glistening on it.

He chuckled, smiled at her as if this were a friendly game. "You, know, I'm curious. After killin' me, what is it you're plannin' on doing next?"

Elizabeth couldn't speak. She couldn't think. She could only scream, and burst through the cabin doors, and face whatever was out there.

The crew was staring at her, Pintel, Ragetti, Koehler, Twigg, and they were all horribly wrong. Their clothes were in rags, their faces were thin, skeletal—

No, not skeletal, she realized, but literally _skeletons_. She shrieked, ran, but then, they were upon her.

She was being tossed every which way, bleached bones pushing against her, fleshless, toothy mouths grinning. She screamed and struggled and scampered away, but they were everywhere, and the monkey had gotten out, and even it was a skeleton, its eyes the only living part of it. The pirates were laughing, leering, and Elizabeth decided she'd have to go back to the cabin. She broke away,tripped, and landed in Barbossa's wonderfully skin-covered arms.

"Look!" he shouted, forcing her to turn and gaze upon the skeletons that had only just a few hours ago been men. "The moonlight shows us for what we truly are! We ar e not among the living, and so we cannot die, but neither are we dead!"

There was a horrible look to his face now, and he began to step forward into the moonlight, flesh dissolving to nothingness, and Elizabeth fought the urge to vomit. "For to long I've been dying of thirst but unable to quench it. I feel _nothing_, Miss Turner, not the spray of the sea or the cool of the wind, or the warmth of a woman's flesh!" He was glaring at her now. "You'd best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. _You're in one_!"

He took the bottle of wine that had stood on the table, and gulped it down, the liquid dripping through his exposed ribcage. Elizabeth ran, back into the cabin, and Barbossa slammed the doors behind her. He cackled, and the crew roared with laughter. "What are ye looking at? Back to work!"

Elizabeth huddled in the corner, watching the seemingly innocent monkey, locked inside with her, and knew she'd get no sleep tonight.


	14. Chapter Twelve: A Night on the Town

CHAPTER TWELVE: A NIGHT ON THE TOWN

"...more importantly, it is indeed a sad life that has never breathed deeply of this sweet, proliferous bouquet that is Tortuga, savvy?" Jack addressed his young charge as they dodged gunshots and tried to avoid the eye of the many prostitutes that lined the streets. Ah, it was good to be home again. "What do you think?" he asked, turning to the boy.

Will, to his credit, did not appear completely overwhelmed by this new setting, though his eyes were much larger than usual, and his voice perhaps a touch higher. "It'll linger," he replied.

Indeed it would. Brawls were occurring all over the place, bottles shattered on heads, gunshots fired into the air, swords waved wildly and almost catching passerby a few times. A woman was drinking out of two tankards of rum at once, the men near her taking in the same copious amounts of alcohol. Shouts and crying were mixed with fiddle and pipe music. Filth was everywhere.

It was Jack's favorite town in the world.

"JACK SPARROW!"

Jack looked for the source of the voice, and saw a red-haired woman with a fairly large chest and a blazing look in her eyes heading for him. "Um, Scarlett!" He opened his arms in an embracing gesture in an attempt to head off her anger, but it was too late; she slapped him so hard that it whipped his head around, and then stalked off.

Will was looking at him, his face half-questioning, half-amused. Jack frowned. "Not sure I deserved that," he slurred.

"YOU!"

Another girl was approaching, a blonde with a great deal of eye makeup on and murder in her eyes. "Giselle!" Jack cried, smiling at her and pleading in his mind.

"'Oo was she?" the girl asked, and slapped him across the other cheek, then walked off.

Jack put a hand to his face, wincing. "I _may_ have deserved that."

Will grunted. "So, who are we looking for?"

"Well, you now happen to know the man who happens to know the man who knows the finest sailors in Tortuga. Old friend," Jack clarified, at Will's puzzled look. "And I think," he continued, "I might know where to find him."

— — — —

Joshamee Gibbs had been sleeping with a family of pigs in their mudhole, as it was the warmest place he could afford at the moment, and it was still freezing, it seemed to him. Thus, he did not appreciate it when a wave of cold, muddy water crashed into him.

"CURSE YA FOR BREATHIN', YA SLACK-JAWED IDIOT!" he bellowed, sitting up, and was about to continue his tirade when he saw who was standing above him.

On the right, holding a bucket, was a young man with a sword at his side and a rather disgusted look on his face. On the left was a very familiar-looking man, one wearing a tricorn hat, a long coat, and a red bandanna.

"Jack! Mother's love, you're back!" Gibbs started to grin. "You should know better than to wake a man when he's sleeping! Bad luck, that is."

"Fortunately, I know how to counter it," the pirate replied. "The man who did the waking buys the man who was sleeping a drink. The man who was sleeping drinks it while listening to a proposition from the man who did the waking."

Gibbs frowned for a few seconds, puzzling this over, then replied, "Aye, that'll about do it!"

As he stood, the boy cast the bucket forward, and a wave of cold liquid hit Gibbs again. "_Blast, I'm already awake_!"

"That was for the smell," the kid replied.

Gibbs opened his mouth to reply, then stopped, thought about it, and shrugged.

— — — —

Gibbs eagerly accepted the tankard of ale and sat down, as Jack stood the kid against a pillar and told him to "Keep a sharp eye." The pirate then swaggered over to Gibbs' table and sat, sipping his own drink.

"Now," Gibbs asked his friend, "what be the nature of this venture of yourn?"

Jack leaned close. "I'm going after the _Pearl_. I know where she'll be, and I'm gonna take her."

Gibbs choked on his ale. "Jack, it's a fool's errand! You know better than me the tales of the _Black Pearl_!"

"Which is why I know what Barbossa is up to," the pirate replied. "All I need is a crew."

Gibbs shook his head. "From what I hear tell of, Cap'n Barbossa's not a man to suffer fools, nor strike a bargain with one!"

Jack grinned. "Well, then, I'd say it's a very good thing I'm not a fool, eh?"

"Prove me wrong! What makes you think Barbossa will give up his ship to you?"

Jack dropped his voice. "Let's just say it's a matter of leverage, eh?"

Gibbs didn't get it. "Huh?"

Jack nudged his head at something. Gibbs still didn't follow. Jack rolled his eyes, grabbed Gibbs' face, and directed it at the boy, who was being set upon by a rather large, rather drunk woman who seemed to find him handsome. "The kid?" Jack nodded.

"That is the child, my friend, of Bootstrap Bill Turner. His _only_ child, savvy?"

Now _this_ was different. "Is he, now?" Gibbs felt a grin forming on his face. "Leverage, says you. I think I feels a change in the wind, says I. I'll find you a crew, and with any luck, there'll be some sailors on this rock as crazy as you are!"

"One can only hope." Jack smiled, lifted his tankard. "Take what you can!"

Gibbs clunked his own mug into Jack's. "Give nothin' back!" They both drank deeply.

There was a loud clatter. Gibbs looked around, and saw the boy push the woman and her rather surly husband off, then overturn the nearest table and draw his sword, his look daring anyone to fight him.

There were a few moments of silence, and then everyone went back to drinking.

Gibbs grunted. "Kid's a bit of a stick, isn't he?"

Jack shook his head. "You've no idea."


	15. Chapter Thirteen: Setting Sail

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: SETTING SAIL

A. N.: Sorry for the _very_ short chapter. I was planning on including the storm sequence that follows immediately after the ensuing events, but I'm pretty busy, what with Christmas and all. Have a Merry Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza, or whatever else you celebrate, and I'll be back with more chapters after New Year's!

— — — —

"Feast your eyes, Cap'n! All of 'em faithful hands before the mast! Every man worth his salt! And crazy to boot," Gibbs whispered in Jack's ear.

Will had his doubts. There were old men, dirty men, midgets, boys, but no one that looked like they'd be half-decent at crewing a ship. _Then again_, he thought to himself, _what do you know about it, either? _He kept silent, thinking he'd see what his pirate companion thought of them first.

Jack started to walk along the dock, looking at each one of the men in turn. He stopped to stare at one particular one, an old man with a bright blue macaw resting on his shoulder. "You, sailor!"

"Cotton, sir," Gibbs supplied.

"Mr. Cotton," Jack asked, striding forward, "do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death?"

There was silence from Cotton's end, although Will suspected this might have been because Jack had slurred his words to the point of unintellegibility. "Mr. Cotton!" Jack shouted. "Answer, man!"

"Er, he's a mute, sir," Gibbs informed them hastily. "Poor devil had his tongue cut out." Cotton opened his mouth to affirm this fact, and Jack winced away. "He trained the bird to talk for him, though—no one rightly knows how."

Jack, looking intensely embarrassed, turned to the macaw. "Mr. Cotton's parrot—same question."

The bird squawked, "Wind in the sails! Wind in the sails!"

Jack turned inquiringly to Gibbs, who replied, "We mostly figure that means 'yes'."

"Of course it does!" he turned to Will. "Well, satisfied?"

Will rolled his eyes in disgust. "So this is your able-bodied crew?" he hissed at Jack. "You've proven they're mad."

"And what's the benefit for us?" a heavily accented, rather high voice called from the dock's end.

Jack gave a tiny start at these words; Will watched, bemused, as he started moving along the dock, searching faces and yanking off hats. The pirate stopped almost at the very end of the dock. Slowly, he lifted the wide-brimmed hat from the head of the young sailor in front of him. A good deal of long hair spilled out, and Will realized this was not a young boy, but a woman.

Jack winced and surreptitiously began to back away. "Anamaria..."

The woman was faster. She slapped him hard enough that Will thought Jack's head might turn all the way around. He came closer, and inquired pointedly, "I suppose you didn't deserve that one, as well?"

The pirate cringed, rubbing his cheek, and replied, "No, that one I deserved..."

"_You stole my BOAT_!" Anamaria shouted, advancing on the two men.

"Well, actually—" Jack began, and was rewarded for his trouble by another smack. He put a hand to his jaw, eyes wide, and began slurring excuses frantically. "Borrowed—borrowed without permission, but with _every intention_ of returning it to you!"

"_BUT YOU DIDN'T_!"Anamaria's hand came back once more, and Will decided Jack had endured enough pain for one day, at least. "You'll get another one!" he told her hastily.

"Another one!" Jack repeated frantically, not really taking in what he was saying, Will thought.

"I will!" she hissed at the pair of them, eyes blazing.

Will, still sensing danger, continued, "A better one!"

"Yes, a better one!" Jack parroted.

Anamaria still looked furious. Will pointed out at the _Interceptor_ and said, "That one!"

"Yes, that o—_that one_?" Jack growled at Will, who nodded and gestured at the angry expression still on the pirate's lost love's face. "Aye, _that_ one!" Jack told her, smiling brilliantly. "What say you?"

For a moment, the girl seemed lost in thought. Then, she and the rest gave a shout of "Aye!"

"Anchors aweigh!" put in Cotton's macaw.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no," Gibbs told Jack imploringly, a pleading look on his face, "'tis frightful bad luck to have a woman on board!"

"It'd be far worse not to have her," the pirate replied, rubbing his jaw regretfully.


End file.
